


The Crimson Star Affair

by DixieDale



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: An assignment in a small, obscure country.  Protect the dying leader while a new leader was chosen.  Simple in its aims, but complicated by the fact that both Thrush and KAOS were dipping their fingers into the pie.  Well, so was UNCLE, but surely that was a totally different matter. Of course, there was that little quirk to the assignment, the one Alexander Waverly would explain to the UNCLE team of Solo and Kuryakin.  Illya suppressed a groan upon hearing the details; anything involving an attractive young woman was bound to be nothing but annoying; after all, Napoleon WAS Napoleon.





	The Crimson Star Affair

 

**"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, It's Off To Work We Go" - The Seven Dwarves**

A new day, a new assignment. While Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were grateful for each new day, considering how easily that new day might not have come for them, what with their line of work and all, sometimes the new assignments from Mr. Waverly were not what they had anticipated when they joined the organization. Sometimes the outcomes are not what they had anticipated either. On a few occasions, not even what Mr. Waverly, Head of UNCLE New York anticipated either. He tended not to take that in good spirits. Oh, well.

  
***

**"This is the situation - as we understand it . . ." - Alexander Waverly**

They were to protect him, Waverly had told them, the old leader, the Guiding Star. Protect him, but also something more. And it was that something more that caused concern, in Illya Kuryakin, if not in Napoleon Solo.

He was supposedly dying, the leader of that small isolated country, or at least close enough that he and his council of advisors were now conducting 'interviews', though that probably wasn't the right word, to decide who he would appoint as his successor, his Chosen One.

There were those who would give a great deal to influence his selection, for though the country was small, it was situated in a potentially strategic geographic position. And, of course, there were those stories of certain riches, ancient treasures, hidden away in that place.

Some of those who would have liked to press the advantages of one or another of the possibilities were of the leader's own people, of course. Some had candidates they thought they'd caught a glimpse of potential greatness lying beneath the surface, or if not greatness, malleability, even more desirable to someone of personal ambition. Even among the People there was a certain allure to being the one who could whisper into the ear of the Guiding Star and be given perhaps a more lenient hearing than others. Others had had ones chosen for that honor from their blood lines in the past and thought it was time for another to add to that glory.

Not all were so benign in their intent, or so moderate in their ambitions; some were quite firmly placed in their ideas of who should next sit on the small bench in front of the ornate throne fashioned from gold and ivory and glistening gems. Had determined to have a guiding hand, perhaps even a forceful one, in that choice.

Though, to the credit of the Guiding Star and all those who had gone before, none of those were of the people who lived here. While there were those of the People who might have ideas of who they might prefer to be considered as candidates, they had confidence in the ultimate choice of the Guiding Star, as dictated by The Crimson Star, Herself, and had no inclination to thwart that. Indeed, to the very person, they would have been appalled at the thought.

That was NOT the case with those outside the realm. Some watched anxiously, hoping the new Chosen One would not rock the boat in the matter of local politics or trade. Some were willing to go quite a bit farther than just 'hoping'.

There were even those who thought their candidate would sit ON that throne, not understanding that no one sat there, ever; that THAT glory of twisted golden vines and ivory blossoms with gemmed centers was reserved for the presence of The Crimson Star alone. That anyone daring such sacrilege would have immediately been dragged away from that edifice and put to a most gruesome death was unknown outside the community.

That the Guiding Star was not the 'ruler' as they understood matters, that that personage was truly only the voice, the conduit between the Council, the People and the one who DID rule - The Crimson Star? That would have been beyond their understanding totally, even if they had known. Well, most knowledge of the People of The Crimson Star was kept veiled from the outside, and that was how The Crimson Star had ordered, so many hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago. Her people had rarely disappointed Her; the very few who HAD, well, their skulls ornamented the walls of Her sleeping chamber.

Now, those on the outside who considered the situation, though knowing and understandingly appalling little of it, thought how best to take a hand, and pondered how they could influence that important choice. Perhaps some even thought to hasten the death of the Guiding Star, make sure it happened BEFORE he made his choice, so that they might sway the direction of this tiny country even more decidedly.

Several other countries and entities talked about it, and though caution kept them from making TOO bold a move, (their own histories spoke of how dangerous that could be - not just envoys but entire armies had disappeared trying foolish things like that), that was not the case with several others. Interpol had a quite involved meeting, as did the intelligence bureaus of Great Britain and the United States and Russia. However, having a great many other things on their plates at the moment, they decided not to try and intervene, but merely to wait and see how things turned out.

And, of course, the organizations not of any one government, or even collaboration of governments, but organizations intent on their own purposes and goals met and considered the possibilities.

One of the district chiefs from KAOS had run an idea up the flagpole, and with their leadership's approval had kidnapped Loren McCain, on his way back to his homeland, substituting one of their own agents. Of course, their agent had been suitably altered to pass for the rather unremarkable Mr. McCain. Average height and build, dark hair and eyes, skin with a slightly golden tinge. A little cosmetic surgery and voila! These were a rather naive, sheltered people; just how complicated could it be to carry off a pretense for just long enough to be selected and confirmed? The drugs the KAOS agent carried were deemed sufficient to gain cooperation from the Council and the old man holding the reins right now. Once their man was in position, well KAOS was confident of their ability to maintain control through whatever means necessary.

The organization was quite sure the impersonation would hold, but decided against eliminating the real Mr. McCain permanently on the notion that if it DID all hit the fan, they could smile and apologize with diplomatic grace, perhaps offer a few incentives, and all would be forgiven. The fact that young Loren had been returning as a witness, an observer, not as a candidate, went totally over their heads.

Uh huh. There WAS a reason KAOS wasn't considered the brightest or most effective organization-of-evil-intent around.

Thrush had a 'candidate' they favored as well, and they were determined to see that candidate, a charming and urbane young man known to the outside world as Jeremy Blake, seated firmly on the seat of power. Jeremy had grown up in his homeland, but had spent some time attending university in the States, majoring in Computer Science, with a strong minor in wine, women, and song. That his homeland had no interest in computers, and he elected to study them merely because there would be no others in his homeland to top his rather limited 'achievements' was perhaps telling. Also telling was the ease with which Thrush convinced him he was a viable candidate, would SURELY be selected above all the others once those at home saw how he'd matured and 'blossomed', so to speak.

Jeremy had, along with obtaining his degree, though with less than stellar credentials, developed a taste for some of the more expensive hobbies, some might even say vices, the outside world could offer. It seems Thrush was willing to subsidize his enjoyment of those activities in return for a certain level of influence. So what if his family was not particularly in favor with the Guiding Star and the Council? Or that he also was being summoned home only as a courtesy, as a witness, not as a potential candidate. Thrust felt they could surely find a way around those tiny little snags. Trained and well armed troops on the border awaited word to go in and 'handle' those snags if necessary, should some glib persuasion by Jeremy and his Thrush companion prove unsuccessful. Jeremy WAS very good at 'glib'; it was one of his few real talents.

Well, at least Thrush wasn't trying to put in a ringer. It wasn't much of an improvement over the efforts of KAOS, but at least it was a point in their favor and had a slightly better change of success. Slightly.

And then there was The U.N.C.L.E., in the person of Alexander Waverly, dipping their own long fingers into the pie.

Alexander Waverly turned from the communications center and once again gave them his attention.  Looking up from the general information outlined on the sheet they'd been given when they'd entered the office, they listened, prepared to hear just what was expected of them.

"This is the situation - as we understand it."   They should perhaps have paid more attention to those last four words.

And so it began.

 

***

**"There is a problem with your assignment, Mr. Kuryakin?" - Alexander Waverly**

Waverly pushed a file toward Napoleon Solo, who picked it up and opened it, his attention snapping to the photograph of an attractive dark-haired young woman of maybe twenty five or so.

"It is a small remote country, gentlemen, having little contact with the outside world. They call themselves The People of the Crimson Star; at least, that is the best translation we've been able to come up with. There is some trade with its neighbors but not overly much, and it appears they are more sought after than seeking of that contact, primarily for their metalcraft and their fabrics. On many occasions throughout their very long existence they have withdrawn entirely, for reasons often quite unknown to the outside world, closing their borders both to trade and to common diplomacy, reopening them just as mysteriously whenever they chose to do so. We feel that is unfortunate, their holding themself apart, since in a part of the world that is becoming less and less stable, they could prove a calming force if their leadership took it upon themselves to do so."

"That brings us to your mission. You have the file there. Rhonnie Lucas, age twenty five, currently residing in Edinburgh, though she seems to travel a great deal. Not her real name, I'm sure, but those on the outside of the community are not given knowledge of birth names of those within, it would appear. Makes things rather confusing, of course, for those not in the know, along with the vaguaries of their language and customs, and the fact that they all bear a strong physical ethnic resemblance."

"From what we can ascertain, her parents are of a collateral line to the current leader. While her family remains within the community, she apparently left some time ago and has not yet returned to live there permanently, although she has made periodic visits home. She has been gone close to five years, and is now traveling back to witness the transition. It is my understanding that most, if not all, of those who are not currently within the jurisdictional boundaries are doing so, at the request of their leader. Some are being recalled as potential candidates, others as witness to the transition, and frankly, we are not totally sure which is which in all cases. It would seem both KAOS and Thrush are involving themselves, and THEY also do not seem to know who is a candidate and who is not, or perhaps they simply feel that is irrelevant. They, of course, must not be allowed to hold sway over the selection."

"The Guiding Star, Luanac, is a cousin, several times removed, or perhaps an uncle of some degree, to this young woman, Miss Lucas, and it is said her family is in some favor with him. It is also said that he is inclined to listen to her, or at least he has in the past, even when she was very young, something about a revelation or a prophecy or some such thing giving her 'wisdom beyond her years'."

Waverly took an exasperated puff on his pipe at such nonsense, and took a moment before continuing.

"Of course, we have no details about that; as I said, they are quite secretive in the matter of their beliefs and customs. In any case, she has influence, which is of considerable importance, considering the situation."

"There are several candidates, or possible candidates, under initial consideration, or so it would appear. The lack of clarity is most annoying, I must say."

Waverly flicked his finger in annoyance at the file in front of him. "This young man, Jeremy Blake, is NOT the one we want to be chosen, obviously. Thrush has him firmly within their grasp, and are most eager to use him and the community to stir up unrest, perhaps found a new base of operations. KAOS is supporting Loren McCain; that would scarcely work any better, of course. They would hardly have chosen him otherwise."

"We rather favor THIS young man," pushing another file to the center. "He is going by the name of Deacon Wright. He is a recent graduate of Cambridge, quite intelligent. Has made an intense study of Western Civilizations, has an advanced degree in that subject, as a matter of fact, top of his class. There are others with merit, perhaps, but they are among those who've stayed solely within the community, and would be more likely, in our opinion, to favor continued isolation. He has at least seen the outside world and seems the one most likely to be amenable to the Western way of thought; also he is amenable to having advisors we here at UNCLE would be more than glad to recommend and supply. We believe he would help turn their people to be a more favorable influence in that region and beyond; draw them out of their shell, you might say. They tend to maintain rather limited contact with the outside, as I mentioned."

"You will go, apprise this Miss Lucas of the situation, and convince her, upon her return to the community, to use her influence with this Guiding Star to ensure the proper outcome. You will accompany her in order to lend whatever support is needed."

He frowned and raised a warding hand at the questions coming his way from his two agents.

"No, I do not know how. You will go and meet her and find a way. You are usually quite skilled in finding ways to convince young women in the direction you wish them to proceed, or at least I have observed, Mr. Solo. Go, gain her confidence, and gently guide her. I'm sure you will be able to make her see the overwhelming merits of Mr. Wright. I have heard that is someone all young women are in favor of, after all," smiling slightly at his own rather misguided attempt at humor.

In response to a question from Napoleon, Waverly replied, "no, she is returning merely as an observer, though a favored one, not a potential candidate. Yes, they accept candidates from both spheres, those who remained within the community entirely AND those who ventured forth. There seems to be no instilled prejudice in either direction. Except that the candidates are always male and not from a family with any overwhelming black marks against them. While the latter is not a problem, the first disqualifies her, of course. Not that she appears to have any special qualifications in the first place."

Illya was not looking particularly pleased; even under his usual reserved demeanor, that was obvious.

Waverly let his eyes drift from Napoleon Solo who was studying the pictures, particularly the picture of the very attractive dark-haired, golden-skinned young Rhonnie, to the more reserved Russian. That dour look was now even more bleak; in fact, dour would have described the look on BOTH their faces, the agent and the leader.

"There is a problem with your assignment, Mr. Kuryakin?" That was offered in a rather forbidding tone, much as if to say 'there had better not be!'

"Helping to prevent their current ruler's assassination, helping to prevent Thrush or KAOS from installing a figurehead, yes, I can see that necessity. But working to instill our OWN figurehead seems outside the purview of UNCLE, sir."

For him to have expressed even that mild disapproval aloud told both men listening that the disapproval ran much stronger.

Waverly flushed slightly and scowled, "we are hardly instilling a figurehead, Mr. Kuryakin! We are merely offering some slight guidance in the decision, in a direction that might benefit more than just the community itself. Surely stability in the region, perhaps even farther abroad, is a worthy goal. We can hardly allow KAOS or Thrush to gain a foothold there!"

He closed the file and just as obviously closed the subject, if the annoyed frown on his face was any indication. The two men gathered their files and left, not a word from either of them.

Napoleon Solo cleared his throat, glancing at his now openly scowling partner. "It's not as if we're staging a palace revolt, Illya. And after all, it's a changing world. A closed community like that, they probably could use some sound guidance in the way the rest of the world works, how best to interact, who might be friends and who it would be best to avoid."

Somehow he had hoped to sound a lot more sure of himself, more confident with that statement, but hearing himself, he knew he hadn't quite managed. And if he hadn't really convinced himself, he rather doubted he'd convinced his stubborn partner.

The glare Illya hadn't quite dared to give Alexander Waverly now came out full force. "Colonialism is colonialism, Napoleon, no matter HOW benevolent the supposed intent of those offering their 'sound guidance'. Just how many quite competent societies have found themselves upturned, disrupted, often beyond repair, by the 'benevolent' intentions of those who felt themselves better able to provide 'sound guidance' than those within that very society, all with their own self-serving motives, but often with little or no knowledge of the society itself?"

Napoleon took another look at that forbidding face and decided now was NOT the time to argue the point, not in the middle of the hallway outside Waverly's office anyway.

 

***

**"Charming men are like mice . . . Pity they only make those convenient traps in the smallest size" - Aunt Maude**

Rhonnie Lucas was trying to pack for her trip home. She'd always kept spare clothing there, both at her family's house and at the Dwelling of the Crimson Star, but there was also the possibility of a delay in the journey, coming or going, and she wanted to look presentable when she arrived. So one small traveling case would be all that would accompany her; it would contain the bare necessities, along with the copy of Nealan's latest manuscript that she was editing and a box of sweets Kat had made for her to take to Luanac. He'd always had a sweet tooth, she recalled fondly, and Kat had a sure hand in the kitchen. {"Her aunts' recipe, she said, Maude and Marisol developing the sticky, gooey, and probably addictive honey and lemon pastry wedges."}

She'd said her temporary farewells to Kat and Nealan, the two closest to her heart, wishing she could ask them to come with her, but knew that would not be appropriate. Not yet anyway. She had a few things to discuss with Luanac first, though she could not afford to delay too long. It was important this get resolved while Luanac was still the Guiding Star; he understood her, supported her - his support in the matter of Kat and Nealan would be essential.

It was difficult to even think about losing her friend and family member. While she knew the People themselves would be assured a Chosen One well suited to the task, she and Luanac had been very close ever since she could barely walk.

To be interrupted in her packing, indeed in her thinking, by two strangers introducing themselves as representatives from The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement was a surprise, and not a pleasant one; still, she sat and heard them out.

{"So, threats against a legitimate Choosing and Transition from not one but, according to them, at least two separate outside sources."}

Actually, considering what they were saying, hinting, suggesting, she would say THREE outside sources, though at least this Napoleon Solo didn't seem to consider their UNCLE as a comparable threat. She had a feeling that did not hold true for his partner; there was just a touch of disgruntlement about him, some disillusionment as he listened to the suave arguments put forth by the ever-so-charming American.

They were an interesting pair, she thought, and obviously not equally motivated to their assignment. The Russian seemed to be fighting a battle with himself, between his duty and his inclinations, with that faint harsh muttering of the word 'colonialism', though in Russian, which perhaps they wouldn't have expected her to understand. The American, well, he seemed far less conflicted.

Well, she agreed it didn't sound like colonialism, exactly. {"More what Nealan calls 'neo-colonialism'; same effect, less bloodshed, at least at first, until the people get wise and rebel, but same long term effects. Not for MY people, not if I have anything to say about it!"}

While she hadn't welcomed the interruption, still, she had to be grateful that this had been brought to her attention. Not that she was giving them any great credit, considering their motives, still, she was willing to cut them at least the tiniest amount of slack. She focused more on the men themselves; it was essential she learn as much as she could, but to interpret what she learned, she needed to understand these men as well.

She wasn't sure what she felt about the Russian, on any level, other than a certain wary sympathy for the position he found himself in, on various levels, but the American she was finding increasingly amusing. She was very sure that was NOT the reaction he was going for or expecting, of course. Impressed, flattered, even slightly smitten. That was obviously what her reaction was supposed to be. Funny how far off her reactions seemed to be from what he must have assumed would be the case. It had taken a great deal of self-control to keep from rolling her eyes at some of that charm that was being so smoothly directed at her. She much preferred Nealan's open honesty and sincere regard.

{"Just have to wonder how many females fall for that nonsense! I know I'm not so inclined, and I can only imagine Kat and her female relatives' response! I still remember her quoting her Aunt Maude, "charming, manipulative men are like mice, unwelcome and unpleasant, but somehow manage to show up whether you want them to or not. You just need to learn how to recognize them and deal with them firmly to minimize the damage. Pity they only make those convenient traps in the smallest size, of course; perhaps that might be an avenue to explore."} Rhonnie managed to refrain from the laugh she felt bubbling up at that thought, and focused again on the men and their words.

Still, their offer to accompany her, brief her on the candidates, on the outsiders seeking to meddle in affairs they would be best to leave alone? That did bear some measure of worth, enough she finally agreed. She would go, she would be as a sponge, soaking up any and all information they provided. She would also be sure to ferret out any other information they might let slip inadvertently; who knows what she might learn from careful observation?

That she also left a message behind for Kat and Nealan, along with another to be conveyed to the Guiding Star and the Council, that only made common sense. She could see no reason these men would want to abduct her, but stranger things had happened. Making sure to slip that palm knife, a gift from Kat, into the slit at the inside of her belt, making sure her pocket pistol, a present from Nealan - both the weapon and the training in its use - was loaded and a couple of spare clips tucked away inside a pair of socks, she clicked the traveling case shut and pronounced herself ready to leave.

  
***

**On A Train Bound For Nowhere -**

"She's sleeping, finally; I thought she never would. Have you noticed that she listens to all we say, asks a great many question, and sensible ones too, but when we try to find out a little more about what we're walking into, more about the community, the society, we get nothing more than inconsequential babble?"

Illya was more than a little impressed, actually. He and Napoleon were expert at getting the Innocents to give up all their secrets, yet it appeared this one was remarkably resistant to their efforts.

"Well, I think you're doing better than I am. Whatever I try, however congenial I am, all I get is that look of total non-comprehension," Napoleon groused. He was unaccustomed to having his charm turned aside so easily, and found it oddly disconcerting.

"Did you get a chance to go through her things?"

Illya snorted, "no, and I doubt I will. The case never leaves her side, and the slightest movement in its direction gets her immediate attention, causes her to find some reason to reach in and sort the contents, or pull something out, most likely that book she seems to be annotating. Even now, while she's sleeping, she's curled around it like it's a teddy bear."

The morning meal served at the table in the swaying dining car proved no different. Napoleon smiled and was his charming best; Illya carefully inserted questions, or at least openings for their traveling companion to fill with something pertinent, into the general conversation. All they learned was that she had no interest in modern film, and that she found using milk in brewed tea a totally outlandish idea. Not much for an hour of devoted effort, the agents had to admit.

She, on the other hand, had learned a great deal. Well, she HAD been eavesdropping when they'd made communication with that Mr. Waverly. AND when they'd discussed their assignment and tentative plans in more detail, though only between themselves. That little device Kat had given her several months ago had worked admirably; it had been intended as a tool to firmly dismantle a nest of viperish gossips at the university, and had worked well for that purpose. Rhonnie was glad she'd decided to slip that little wonder into her pen case. {"And it hardly looks like anything of importance, just another ink pen with a removeable cap; so lovely!"}

  
***

**"You know, Illya, that didn't go nearly as well as I'd expected." - Napoleon Solo**

"And I thought the train was an experience in roughing it!" Napoleon Solo remarked, stretching his back as they stepped down from the ancient train.

Their arrival at the remote train depot was noted by several watchers. Of course, those sent from the Dwelling of the Crimson Star had spotted Rhonnie as soon as she'd set foot from the train. They quickly gathered her, and her escorts, into their midst and headed for their own transport.

The two Thrush agents were not pleased to recognize Napoleon Solo or his partner, and hastened back into the shadows to report back to their superiors. The single KAOS operative had frowned at all the activity, but then took a closer look at the new arrivals and followed suit. No, neither organization was going to be overly pleased to see that UNCLE had decided to get involved.

It was a long, tedious journey, first by car, then by cart pulled by some massive-shouldered beasts, similar to but not exactly like oxen. Napoleon was very sure he didn't like or trust the beasts, just something about the measured way they had studied the two men. And were oxen and the like SUPPOSED to have that array of pointed teeth?? Of course, their human entourage hadn't been any less wary of them, any more welcoming. {"I imagine if we had showed up here WITHOUT Rhonnie, we'd have been given a rather harsh greeting,"} Napoleon admitted to himself.

Then, finally, many bone-clattering miles later, there was a tunnel, large enough for the beasts, the carts, and their burdens to pass through. It was cold and dark, taking considerable time to pass through, and Illya had the uncomfortable feeling that it meandered far more than necessary, purposefully disorienting any not familiar with the pathways. Yes, pathways, for there were several places where the dark seemed even darker in one section or the other, off to the side, where a side tunnel seemed more than a little likely. They'd taken a few of those, turning this way and that, and even with his superior sense of direction, Illya knew he would not easily find his way back.

They never saw the outside of the building; one minute they were in the dark tunnel, then wide doors swung open and they pulled into an unloading area inside.

"If you will come with me," intoned calmly from the side got their attention. A man in crimson and green clothing stood there, surveying them carefully, bowing politely to Rhonnie. "Allow me to take your bag, Rhonala; your usual quarters await. Your, um, guests, will be housed with the others who have come to observe."

Rhonnie, Rhonala, had smiled with affection. "Yes, thank you, Jenac. Gentlemen, it has been interesting. You will be given the house rules for guests; it would be best if you acquainted yourself with them. The guard cats tend to take their duties quite seriously. We will speak again, when the time is right."

She turned away, only to have Napoleon frown and reach out a hand as if to delay her.

"Wait, surely . . ."

He drew his hand back at the chorus of indignant hisses that resulted from his action. Some came from the man in the colorful clothes, some from a suddenly not-nearly-so-friendly Rhonala, but most from the trio of large cats now encircling the two UNCLE agents.

"Clouded leopards, I believe, Napoleon. They can cause a great deal of damage, even considering their relatively smaller size," Illya cautioned, remaining perfectly still, eyeing the beasts with caution.

Napoleon judged them to be between forty and sixty pounds each, not feeling that was what he would call 'smaller', especially when accompanied by those claws, snarling teeth, and cold, intent eyes.

"Yes, of course. I meant no offense, Rhonnie; it just seems important that we have contact in order to offer you whatever support you might need."

Somehow, the look in the young woman's eyes wasn't much warmer than that in the three cats, though her words were polite enough, with a slight note of amusement built in.

"If I find I need you, your 'support', be assured I will know where to find you," she had smiled, then turned and walked away.

Silently the two men followed their escort, entered the room they were delivered to, and looked around. Comfortable, certainly, if not lavish.

"You know, Illya, that didn't go nearly as well as I'd expected," Napoleon Solo admitted ruefully.

Kuryakin reviewed the entire mission once again, their objectives and their results so far, and nodded his agreement. "I must agree. You might want to consider quite carefully how to report our 'progress' to Mr. Waverly. I will listen with the greatest of interest, I assure you. I am always on the lookout for ways to improve my own performance by observing a senior agent."

Napoleon gave him a sour look before pulling out his communicator to report, if little else, their arrival.

 

***

**On The Outside Looking In -**

The next day was passed in waiting. Meals were brought and eaten, the small bookcase perused and selections made and read; they also had an opportunity to catch up on their sleep. Their two attempted forays, one through the shutters opening onto a small balcony, the other through the only door, had led to naught. Well, other than the snarling faces of those clouded leopards at the balcony, and the duo of rather larger beasts at the door.

"I am starting to rethink my predisposition toward cats, Napoleon," Illya glumly admitted after that last encounter. He wasn't sure just what those creatures had been; the fangs were certainly longer than any he knew of in the modern cat family, and the deep red coloring even more unfamiliar.

At least there was some activity the next morning. They, and it would appear, all the other visitors, were shown to a large chamber and told to remain in the roped off area. The guards seemed quite serious about that, and Napoleon and Illya shrugged to each other, and settled down to wait. At least there were benches and stools available. They noted the opposite side of the room had a much larger space, where a great many of local people waited.

A tall woman in crimson with green embroidery stood on the raised dais, and reading from a scroll, called out names, none of which the agents recognized. As she spoke, those names were written on a large banner by another woman, and as the names appeared, one man after the other slipped from the larger crowd to stand before the woman, each bowing in turn.

"I suspect these are the candidates. But I didn't hear any of the names Mr. Waverly mentioned," Napoleon whispered.

"Well, of course we would not, Napoleon. She would hardly use the names they are known by on the outside, but their true names. Still, you would note, each ends with the syllable 'ac'. Perhaps denoting the males? Rhonnie was called 'Rhonala'; perhaps the last syllable for the females differs. So, there was a Lorac - perhaps Loren McCain, the one favored by KAOS?"

"Yes, that makes sense. But there were two names that sounded a lot alike -Jorinac and a Jeorac. I wonder which of those is the one being pushed by Thrush?"

Eight names there were in total, and the eight were directed to eight stools beside the dais. Once they were in place, and they were given directions, or perhaps warnings, or encouragement in a language neither Napoleon nor Illya understood, one by one they were taken away.

The crowd waited, the larger crowd, the citizenry, with stoic patience. The visitors were more impatient, even when cups of chilled juice and plates of small sandwiches and pastries were laid out on tables within their confines. The urgent murmurings from the Thrush agent drew the attention of one of the guards, and the man was directed through a small curtain. From the disgruntled look on his face when he emerged, obviously that small 'comfort station' had no means of handy exit, so he had no place to go but back to the area with his temporary companions. Although they didn't know it, the man had been thwarted in more than just his attempt to wander; he'd found, much to his chagrin, that his communicator seemed to be malfunctioning; his superiors would be annoyed at his failure to report, but there was little he could do about it now, not with all these eyes upon him.

The hours stretched on, and one by one the eight were returned, to take their place among the citizenry once again. Finally all eight had been returned.

Still, the waiting went on, and Illya was wondering if they would be there all night.  That was the problem of being an outsider, someone on the outside looking in.  You could wait, but half the time you didn't know what you were waiting for.

 

***

**Waiting In The Shadows -**

Rhonala had been surprised when she'd gotten that tap on the shoulder, the whispered summons from the Guiding Star, though had not hesitated to comply. She'd been shown to the room where the Guiding Star and the Council sat, directed to a chair somewhat in the shadows, out of the direct line of vision of whoever would sit in the Seat of Questioning. Her instructions had been clear enough in content, if not in INtent. "Listen, observe, remember. We will speak later," and she'd bowed politely and proceeded to do just that.

{"Waiting in the shadows.  Aren't those the lyrics to a song?  Well, even if they are, I doubt they cover THIS situation!"} she thought to herself.

Still she sat throughout the interviews, listening, not saying a word, not indicating by even a glance or a nod, or roll of her eyes what she thought of each of the candidates. She doubted if more than one or two had even realized she was in the room. She certainly made no effort to take part, even when a question came burning to her mind. As for making comments, well, that wasn't going to happen either.

No matter what that Mr. Solo thought she should do, SHE had full faith in the Guiding Star. After all, he was being guided by their true leader, The Crimson Star, and certainly didn't need her unbidden advice. If and when Luanac, the Guiding Star, or the Council, wanted something of her, he'd speak up, she was sure of that. Though why he'd wanted her in here to begin with, she couldn't imagine. She spent the time watching, observing, making little mental notes about the various men of varying ages and families who came, sat, spoke and answered the queries made of them.

Finally, when all had been interviewed, each dismissed in turn to return to the assembly of witnesses, Luanac sighed heavily and turned to the others.

"Well, that was interesting, I must say. We have some work to do, I believe. Rhonala, come, sit, speak to us. Tell us your thoughts on each of those who appeared here. Speak fully and honestly, for it is for this that you have been summoned." {"Well, partially, anyway."}

She hadn't been expecting that, not really, but she'd thought plenty as she'd watched that parade. And so, slowly, carefully, she spoke her true and honest thoughts of each of the candidates - their attributes, both those she considered favorable and those she considered not, and their potential as she saw it. She hesitated, but then firmed her resolve to speak clearly of her distrust of certain of the candidates, including what she had been told by the UNCLE agents, giving full attribution to their comments, separating them from her own. She had been taught from birth that she owed such to these leaders of her people.

She covered several before she came to those she considered most relevant, in one manner or another.

"Jorinac is strong and highly intelligent. He has the patience needed for the position, including for dealing with the outsiders. Not all do, as you know full well. I remember him as being quite well versed in the history and ways of our people, yet not opposed to learning about other ways as well. Learning about, but not being quick to think the People must set aside who we are in consideration of those other ways. He would be accepted easily, and would be a good Guiding Star, in my opinion, though I am in no hurry to make that transition," giving a wry smile at the much beloved old man watching her so closely.

"And while I do not put full and unquestioning credence in the words of the outsiders and their stories of manipulation and intrigue, I find Lorac, Loren McCain, far different than I remember him. He is uneasy in this place, as if he had never seen it before; uneasy with our ways, even with himself - the proper settlement of his clothing, his pausing to see whether others bow or nod or take nourishment, as if needing guidance - as if a stranger lies beneath his skin. Perhaps the questions put to him need to be different ones, ones that might ascertain whether he TRULY is one of us. And more importantly, if he is NOT, then what has transpired with our Lorac and how do we retrieve him, if possible. And avenge him if that is not possible."

Luanac nodded, and the Council along with him. They had noticed, had done a little 'testing' of their own; the real question here had been whether anyone else had noticed. They had already started sending out the tendrils that would find them their own Lorac, find him and bring him home. The imposter would be kept under close watch, and the outsider who had accompanied him. Both would find themselves in the custody of the guards before long.

"Jeorac? Jeremy Blake? I find him weak and foolish, in far too many ways, and do not find it difficult to believe others would think to make him their tool. Unfortunately, I do not see any evidence that he would be opposed to that, though his lack of qualifications should surely be evident even to himself. The boy who turns the spit in the kitchen ovens would make a better Guiding Star, as I see it."

And so it continued, ending with the candidate proposed by Alexander Waverly, through the auspices of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin.

"Eainac, known to the outsiders as Deacon Wright. He is not without significant merit, and could prove to be a worthy leader. However, that he was willing to discuss this with outsiders, even to agreeing to allow outsiders to suggest and provide 'Advisors', that I find troubling. How do you allow yourself to speak of sacred things to outsiders, perhaps betraying some knowledge that would be used against the People, unless given direction to do so by The Crimson Star? How do you allow yourself to speak of such things, making agreements, when the authority is not yet yours? Unless She spoke to him directly, and he gave no hint of that in his words here."

One member of the Council, Leala, the one who led when leadership was required, spoke up.

"Is your judgement there perhaps swayed by the fact that those he would deal with sought to use you to influence us in his favor? Not that I would not understand that, of course, but still, might it be affecting how you see the candidate Eainac, judging his own merits? That your resentment of their actions is spilling over onto him?"

Rhonnie Lucas, Rhonala, gave a polite huff.

"I hardly think so. To try and enlist my aid, well, I put that down to their ignorance of how things work among the People. And perhaps seeing Jeorac and his weakness caused them to think he was not the only susceptible one among us. For them to think I would be convinced by logic and information, that wouldn't have been so bad. After all, logic and information can be useful, as proven here, if certainly not ALL that has to be taken into consideration. But that they thought I would be convinced by the soft words and ingratiating manner and blatantly self-approving, self-serving sexual appeal of their Mr. Solo wasn't even insulting, more amusing than anything else. Of the two of us, I wasn't the one bearing the deepest of secrets. And he, poor fool, seeks to hide his secrets not only from others, but from even himself. I do not resent him, so much as pity him."

"And truly, even had they not brought me the word of these plots, I have full confidence that our own intelligence and knowledge would have prevented anyone unworthy of being presented to The Crimson Star. After all, you were able to easily ascertain those two were to be included among the candidates, at least once they presented themselves at the Calling unbidden. I have NO doubt that, even SHOULD someone unworthy be presented, The Crimson Star would make short work of denying him."

And they asked other questions, and she answered as best she could, though not seeing the reason behind many of them. Finally, they sat back, and Leala looked at each of the others on the Council, getting a firm nod from each, and in turn, nodded easily at Luanac, their Guiding Star.

"It is as we thought, Guiding Star."

"So be it. Very well, we will speak later," and the others of the Council bade him farewell, and a peaceful night, and each bade her farewell also, thanking her for her honesty.

  
***

**"All in all, it could have been worse." - Rhonnie Lucas, aka Rhonala, etc etc etc**

Alone, Luanac motioned for Rhonala to pour him a glass of wine, and to partake herself. Slowly unkinking her muscles from the tension she'd not even been aware of holding, she sipped her wine and waited while the old man seemed to gather his thoughts.

She was not impatient. It was not for her to ask their decision, if indeed they had made one. She, like the rest of the People, would be told in due course.

Though, it turned out she WAS told a little sooner than the rest - after they'd finished that first glass of wine, and she had poured a second and regained her seat. At least he had waited until she had swallowed and no longer held the wine in her mouth before he told her the decision that had been made.

{"That would have been less than attractive, and probably detrimental to the rugs,"} she had to admit to herself.

And if her response was slightly less calm, cool and collected than her prior testimony, it was no more than was to be expected.

Rhonnie Lucas, who thought of herself as Rhonala anymore while among the People, looked down as 'herself' melted and reformed into 'himself' and pronounced, deeply, highly annoyed.

"Damn!!! Three years down the drain!"

She glared at Luanac, Guiding Star of the People, her much beloved older cousin.

"I could just strangle you, you know??!" the one named Rhonac at birth, now obviously to be known once again as Rhonac, Chosen One of the People, eventually to be known as their Guiding Star, growled.

{"Maybe I should just start calling myself Rhon; that would work and not confuse things too much. Well, any more than they already are! Might even start a new tradition."}.

"Why bother to allow me to go through all that, finding myself, if you just intended to take it all away?!!"

The Guiding Star, her elder cousin, had encouraged her in her search for her true identify, had supported her ultimate decision to become Rhonala, in truth, rather than Rhonac.

She had no intention of crying, and did NOT cry, but honestly couldn't think anyone should blame her if she had shed a tear or two of frustration and loss.

And Luanac coughed behind his fist, trying unsuccessfully to hide his sympathetic amusement .

"Yes, I know. And I realize you went through a great deal to transform yourself. And, yes, I encouraged you. Well, with The Crimson Star declaring it was the right thing, the right time, and you the right person, how was I to do otherwise? No, I never told you any of that, but it is the truth."

"And I realize it will seem awkward for a short while, though I and the Council will do all we can to minimize that. However, once the people have been introduced to you as the new Guiding Star, they will take you to their hearts as the new ruler. Then, we have been assured by The Crimson Star, this newest transformation will start to reverse itself, and WITHOUT all that which you went through Outside."

"It will not be long, certainly less than the three years it took you before, and it will be as it should be, only with the People having been given a new course. A course put into place by the miracle of your transformation - Rhonac to Rhonala, during your time away, and back to Rhonac upon your arrival here for the Choosing, and finally to Rhonala again as you assume the role of Guiding Star, all by the grace of The Crimson Star."

For, despite what the outsiders had thought, Luanac was not dying, merely paving the way for that day, ensuring the right leader would be there, fully trained to take his place.

And, Luanac pondered, all of that DID clarify the rather confusing part of the foretelling - that the Chosen One destined to be the next Guiding Star would father a girl child on His Consort, a child who would be a mighty warrior defeating any who thought to encroach on what belonged to the People; and that that same Chosen One would ALSO bear a son to Her Consort, a child who would re-open old knowledge once lost, and bring new knowledge, all to the betterment of the People.

"It is during your reign that the customs will change, you see. Those who read the fires have seen it."

"From this time forward, the young ones brought for training, the ones brought for the Choosing will be ALL who are seen to have the spark, not just the ones born male, or at least seemingly so. And among the People there will be changes, as well, so that each may be more as they were meant to be, able to explore the possibilities they determine are right for them - not one set of possibilities for one group, another set for another."

"The Crimson Star has waited long for this day, for the branching onto a new path. Waited for YOU to lead us on this new path. It seems She has, uh, 'reconnected' with another branch of Her children in recent years, ones she had lost track of, and has become inspired to bring some of their more promising ways to us, her People. Though I am still not sure what She meant by 'jewels amongst the cobblestones', but I am sure we will find out in due course."

Rhon's glare hadn't left entirely, but had diminished somewhat. SHE had heard that term before, from the two closest to her heart,and had the most unexpected urge to giggle. And thinking of those two prompted her to ask a most important question.

"And my choice of Consorts? Will that be left up to me? Entirely? Because . . ." and the Chosen One's cheeks flushed. Just how much were Luanc and the others willing to accept?

The old man nodded peacefully.

"Entirely up to you, as it truly has been for all that went before you, though with less veiling of the realities for the populace. And yes, we are aware you have some affection for one from the outside. That is not forbidden, though I must admit your choice is more than a little interesting. We have not had one of the Shantai within the Inner Chambers since the days of The Crimson Star, though certainly we have had some contact off and on throughout the centuries. The first scrolls of The Crimson Star spoke of them, and most favorably, but there have been others who found they had merit. We will welcome a closer relationship with those She valued so highly. It seems SHE is very well pleased by the possibilities."

Rhon now gave a slightly rueful smile. "Actually, about Consorts - there will be TWO from the Shantai - Kat and Nealan. They go by the Clan name of O'Donnell, both of them, that being one of the various names the Shantai use. In fact, Kat's mother, Caeide, has a rather interesting story; it seems she had some contact with The Crimson Star, just a few years ago. Most odd and unexpected, of course, hearing that name when I certainly had never spoken it to them, but there are two of her household, less corporeal than some, who bear out the tale. Two of our People, it would seem, though of several centuries past, yet newly gathered in by the Clan. In the year prior to my conception, in fact. It would be interesting to look through the scrolls to get the history of the Heart-Bonded soldiers, Jin and Gao. Sometime you might ask Kat to tell you the story of her parents, Burg Saaleck, and The Crimson Star."

That got a raised brow, but again, one more of amusement than anything else. It would appear their new young leader would be shaking things up around here; it should be quite entertaining. Well, he'd never found his role as servant to The Crimson Star to be boring.

"Then they, the two you would choose as your Consorts, should both certainly attend the ceremony; it is only right. Ceremonial garb will be prepared if you describe their general size. Oh, and whether they would prefer male or female clothing?"

Rhon's dark eyes glistened, amusement now shared fully with the old man.

"Oh, the average size should work, considering the fit of the garb, just one set for someone about my height, one maybe for a person three inches taller. As for the other matter, why not lay out both and let Kat and Nealan decide? Since we are starting a few new traditions anyway?"

The garments weren't all so different, after all, each being a tunic covering either a draped long skirt or flowing trousers. Rhon had never even seen Kat in a skirt; trousers and shirt and jacket were just more adaptable for someone who might need to take part in a battle at any time, and Kat was Warrior born and bred. And Clan ceremonial dress WAS tunic and trousers for male and female alike, more often than not, the color and ornamentation varying as to intent of the message being sent, not according to gender. And while she'd never seen Nealan in a skirt either, she though the serious young scholar might find the providing of each highly amusing and worthy of thought. {"Who knows, he might decide he likes the idea. I HAVE seen him in a kilt, after all, and he carries it off splendidly. New traditions indeed!"}

Luanac tipped his head slightly, "it shall be as you say, Chosen One. When you leave here, you will be taken to where you can contact them and set arrangements in place. Now, about your escorts, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. From what we have been able to overhear of their communications, their Mr. Waverly is deeply perturbed at the possibility of the Choosing being influenced by this Thrush or KAOS. I am sure those two organizations were equally annoyed at Mr. Waverly's intention of influencing the Guiding Star's choice as well. Whether this new development will add to or lessen his annoyance, who can say. I doubt THOSE two will be pleased, but we will deal with that. The armed encampment Thrush sent has already been, shall we say, neutralized." There was a calm, satisfied smile on the old man's face, one echoed by the look on Rhon's face.

Rhon laughed. "Well, perhaps we'll leave that to Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin to explain. I'm not overly concerned about Mr. Waverly's level of annoyance. It's not as if I intend to take direction from him in the first place. We should thank him for his recommendations as to Advisors, but politely decline. We COULD allow them to come and then just cocoon them away from anything of importance, of course. That is always an option, though perhaps opening the way for new scheming and the playing of games. I'll think on it, but for now, with your permission, I think we're better off declining his kind offer. After all, you and Council have done an admirable job; I see no reason to make dramatic changes. And if I feel we DO need a voice from the outside to speak to our ears, I imagine the Shantai would be willing to suggest someone. They have spoken with great respect of their Leader, the one they call The Grandmother, the one who has the ear of their Sweet Mother Erdu; I'm sure she'd be glad to give me a pointer or two. They seem to have a great deal in common with the People, you know."

Rhon grinned at how this Mr. Waverly would be likely to take all this.

And, all in all, it could have been worse by far, she decided. She had interesting times ahead, so she wouldn't be bored. Her service to The Crimson Star would benefit her people. Her two loves would be with her, for she had no doubt they would elect to stay by her side, even with this rather huge shift in circumstances. At least she would end up in the right body eventually. And, from the stories she'd heard from Kat and Nealan, there could have been more disconcerting choices of bodies to travel through in the process.

Of course, there would be some rough spots ahead as well. They had to retrive Lorac or extract revenge; maybe both, depending on the circumstances. They had to neutralize Jeorac, the fool, and his Thrush supporters. And, finding the right places for Eainac and Jorinac, that would require serious thought. They both had valuable skills, skills the People needed; a successful Chosen One never started by discarding those worthy ones who had NOT been chosen, but by gathering them in close, winning their loyalty and respect, and discovering their proper slot in the puzzle that was the governance of the People.

Luanac stood and watched as Rhon slowly made the mental shift, watched as the Chosen One formed, weighed options, possibilities.

{"Yes, this had been the right thing. Well, The Crimson Star would not be likely to choose poorly; She has never done so before, no matter how inadequate I felt when I was first told of MY Choosing. Yes, there will certainly be interesting times ahead. I can't wait til Rhon gets her first glimpse of The Crimson Star, first hears Her Voice. Oh, how beautiful!"} remembering his first such experience.

  
***

**"I do not have a good feeling about this, Napoleon." - Illya Kuryakin**

"Your report, Mr. Solo. I assume all is going well, that young Mr. Wright will be confirmed as the new leader? What about the Thrush operative and his candidate, and the one from KAOS? What is the status there?"

Napoleon grimaced, looking at the communicator in his hand. He'd considered handing off the instrument to his partner, letting Illya break the news, but he was afraid the smile on the Russian's face would somehow carry through. The Old Man was likely to have a hissy fit as it was; they didn't need any hint that at least one of the UNCLE agents was finding the whole thing not only amusing but rather gratifying.

"Well, the KAOS candidate was invited to a separate meeting by the Council; we haven't seen him since. And for a place this size, the rumor mill seems to be non-existent and the servants totally uninterested in bribes or other gentle persuasion. Even the females seem oddly, well, resistant to my more personal approach."

He glared at Illya who was openly smirking at that piece of information.

"Well, keep on top of that, Mr. Solo. KAOS is not overly efficient, but they still pose a risk. Go on."

"Mr. Blake returned from his interview and was guided to a place among the witnesses. ALL those who were interviewed, other than Mr. McCain, returned and remained there, so I don't know if that was of any significance or not. No one seemed perturbed by it, anyway. The THRUSH operative was kept in the smaller area designated for the few outsiders allowed in the place, along with ourselves. Needless to say, he and the KAOS operative were upset at the final announcement; they were both escorted away immediately by armed guards. Jeremy Blake seemed more shocked than anything else; guards also led him away, supposedly to let him recover himself."

"That sounds most satisfactory, gentlemen. Please let me know when Mr. Wright would like to discuss the matter of appropriate advisors; I believe three would suffice, and I have gathered a dossier on each . . . "

"Ah, sir. As to that . . ." Napoleon hesitated, strongly considering handing the communicator over Illya, even knowing the probable negative outcome.

Illya grinned, reading the expression on Napoleon's face, and reached out for the communicator, took it from his partner's hands.

"Mr. Kuryakin here, sir. Unfortunately, Mr. Wright was not the candidate selected. On the positive side, he was NOT escorted away by armed guards, nor were Napoleon and myself, so it would appear no one was overly offended at our attempts to, uh, 'provide guidance' in this matter."

He waited; the dead silence on the other end lasted for almost a full minute.

Then, a sigh of frustration, and "very well, Mr. Kuryakin. If Mr. Wright was not selected as the new leader, who was? It was my clear understanding there was no one else who had spent significant time in the Western world. Can you tell if he might be amenable to meeting with me, discussing the possibilities?"

{"Come on, Illya, just break the news and let's get on with it! And, partner mine, that smirk is NOT an attractive look for you!"} Napoleon thought, expressing all that with a firm glare.

Illya had been thinking how best to handle this, and, at least for the moment, decided on the simple approach.

"The new Chosen One goes by the name of Rhonac. We have no information on him, hadn't realized he was even among the candidates until the announcement that he was the one selected. As to how amenable to a meeting, there has been no opportunity for any discussion of the matter. There was the announcement, and then we were shown to our room. The formal installation is to be at sunrise two days from now, and we are told there is to be no contact prior to then."

"That is not acceptable, Mr. Kuryakin. You are UNCLE agents; surely you can manage a way out of your room to another within the same building. Do so! Make contact and find out where we stand and get back to me. Tonight! And find out if Miss Lucas has any influence with this Chosen One, might be able to provide us with some assistance. Not that she seemed to have accomplished much in what ELSE we had asked of her!" No, the Old Man was NOT in a good frame of mind!

There was silence on both ends. On Waverly's because he had disconnected; on Illya and Napoleon's because, well, there really wasn't a lot to be said.

"You could be wrong, partner mine, have to be, I'd think. I admit to the rather remarkable resemblance, but you must admit, there is a strong similarity in appearance in all their citizenry that we have seen. Perhaps this Rhon, Rhonac is a brother, a cousin, something of that nature. That would certainly explain why she might favor him over Mr. Waverly's preference, lend her support in his direction rather than in any other."

"Perhaps, Napoleon, but I think not. There was just something in that look the Chosen One gave us, an overly familiar recognition, that obvious restraining of a knowing smile."

"Still, perhaps Rhonnie just briefed him on the situation. And Mr. Waverly himself said they only select men. Surely she wouldn't be able to pass well enough; she grew up with these people."

Illya just gave that little half sly, half shy smile he wore sometimes, the one that Napoleon found equally disturbing and alluring.

"Perhaps it was only with YOU, with us, there was some 'passing', Napoleon. Let us set that aside for now. Our immediate concern is finding a way to get from here to wherever this Ronac is quartered. Somehow I don't think that will be easy; the instructions from the head of their Council were most clear, that we were to remain where we were placed til someone came to get us for the installation."

And it wasn't easy; in fact, it would have proved impossible if Rhon hadn't left instructions that they be allowed to slip from the room, supposedly unseen. One of the guards patrolling the halls even had to do some fast thinking to avoid coming upon them accidentally.

Another, well coached, made a grand show of backing out of a hallway, bowing deeply, saying in words loud enough, simple and slow enough to be understood by the outsiders, "yes, Chosen One; we will see you are not disturbed until the appointed hour."

"I do not have a good feeling about this, Napoleon," Illya grumped as they approached the door, quietly turning the knob and pushing it open just enough to pass through.

"Confidence, Illya. Smile, we are going in to charm the Chosen One; Mr. Waverly does have expectations, after all."

 

Napoleon and Illya slid through the door just in time to see a naked and dripping young man emerging from a large bath, nearly the size of a six-person hot tub, inset into the floor to one side of the room. They froze.

{"Well, that settles one question, anyway,"} Napoleon thought. Still he wasn't sure that it helped the overall situation much. Well, except for alleviating the necessity of trying to explain Illya's theory to Mr. Waverly; that conversation was going to be difficult enough as it was.

Rhon had not liked this part of the scheme. Though not body-shy, still, this was a bit much, especially in front of these outsiders, perhaps more than if they had been total strangers. Still, it was necessary.

Seemingly unaware of the intruders, the Chosen One reached for the bath towel, tucking it firmly around the waist, bare chest still open to the slight breeze from the latticed windows, before turning to see the intruders.

"Gentlemen? Before I summon the guards, would you like to explain your presence here? I would have thought your instructions were clear enough. I am in seclusion this night."

The Chosen One was not angry, was decidedly calm and polite, but neither was he in the mood to be charmed, and their attempts at both that, and at furthering Mr. Waverly's desires proved unsuccessful.

  
Later, returning to their quarters, escorted by a stern-faced guard summoned by a small bell, the two UNCLE agents were again faced with an uncomfortable conversation with their superior.

"Well, gentlemen? What progress have you made?"

"Ah, well, sir. It would appear the Chosen One is declining our offer of advisors, at least at this time. And Miss Lucas appears to be, well, I'm not sure what the correct term is. Perhaps 'in exile', perhaps something quite else. The specific explanation that was used was 'in retreat until she is bade to come forth to serve'. Not particularly edifying, but our attempts at clarification were turned away."

"On a more positive note, we ARE invited to attend the installation two days from now. Our understanding is that the Chosen One's Consort is due to arrive sometime tomorrow, though. Perhaps we might find a friendly ear there. We will make every effort in that direction."

"Hmmmph! Well, I suppose it can't be helped, and your being given an invitation to stay might indicate some hope. And yes, make contact with this 'Consort' if you have the opportunity. Indeed, make sure to FIND an opportunity to do so! This is the first mention of such an individual. A friendly voice in their camp would be most beneficial. Pity about Miss Lucas, of course."

Later, letting the cool breeze filter over their bodies after their shared bath, they considered the matter.

"You told Mr. Waverly, 'the Consort'. I am sure I heard it phrased 'the Consorts', plural, Napoleon."

"I thought that myself, but I wasn't sure. And I'm not sure Mr. Waverly needed to hear that along with everything else. Well, if so, that will give us TWO possibilities for that 'friendly voice'. Better get some sleep; we do have to be at our charming best."

  
The arrival of Kat and Nealan O'Donnell had been handled quietly, the pair being shown respectfully to the quarters of the Chosen One by a route other than the main hallways. And if the greeting was warm, the talk long and serious, that was only to be expected. If the names of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin provoked more of a reaction than Rhon would have thought, well, that was perhaps only to be expected as well.

"I'm not saying M'Coury would out and out slit Kuryakin's throat, or any other part of his anatomy, if she came up against him, but I'd not put any significant wager on the positive outcome of a meeting either. She bears hard grudges, our cousin, and I misdoubt she'll ever be willing to set aside what transpired between the Russian and her own laddie," Kat said, sipping at her wine from where she was perched cross-legged on the rug.

In answer to a wide-eyed question from Rhon, Nealan explained, acknowledging, "oh, I imagine Kuryakin felt he was in the right of it, and perhaps from his viewpoint he was, but that's not really relevant. M'Coury's heart is involved, and she's not likely to forget or forgive the injury given to her Luther, the one she considers her Ashtore. She's not asked the Clan to take up her grudge, but still, in a choice between favoring our cousin, Kat's own mother's sister's child, and the one she bears such rancor towards, well . . ." and he shrugged.

Rhon could find no fault with that; family was family, after all.

 

***

**"Let all hear My words.  Do not fail me, my People." - The Crimson Star**

The installation was impressive in its simplicity rather than in any grandeur; at least it started out that way. The scarlet and ivory robed Guiding Star accepted the bow of the Chosen One, clad in a scarlet and gold tunic and flowing scarlet trousers, and had bowed in return, then motioned the younger toward the seat of power.

Then, as the assembly watched without even a whisper, the Chosen One had walked past the small bench and knelt in front of the intricately crafted throne, bending that dark head to barely touch his forehead to the outer edge of the seat.

The words were nothing the UNCLE agents could understand, but they were quite audible - solemn and obviously ceremonial in nature, respect and entreaty blending together seamlessly. The sprawling fog and mist that enveloped the throne DID come as a shock, at least to the outsiders, as did the image, shockingly life-like, that appeared coiled there once the fog and mist faded away.

Napoleon and Illya stood, stunned, knowing it was somehow a projection, knowing nothing like what they were seeing could possibly be real. Well, of course not! A many-coiled crimson serpent, scales glittering, head nearly touching the ceiling of the vaulted chamber, with tiny wings, and a diadem of rays similar to a dandelion in full froth, tipped with tiny diamonds at the top of that head! No, not likely!

Still, Napoleon gulped when the serpent leaned that massive head down to touch the dark hair of the Chosen One, and after that one gentle touch, drew itself up, swaying high again. And the words came from that wide mouth, first in the language of the People, then in English, and Russian, and French, and more, so that each among the outsiders could hear and understand and would have no excuse for NOT comprehending what was being said.

"This is the Chosen One, the future of my beloved People. When Luanac, my Guiding Star, sits no longer upon the Bench at the foot of my throne, THIS one will take his place. My blessings, my grace, my gifts rest within this one and this one alone. Let all hear my words. To this Chosen One will I speak, as before, and the words this Chosen One will speak to you will be as if coming from me. Do not fail me, my People; do not fail yourselves."

It was a feminine voice, though a trilling, raspy sort of a voice, one you'd never forget it once you'd heard it.

It hadn't helped when that head had swiveled to let those huge eyes rest on the agents, nor when that mouth had twisted itself into a satisfied, even amused smile. For a moment, Napoleon thought his stomach was going to rebel, but he fought the impulse desperately.

  
***

**"Well, Napoleon, you ARE the senior agent." - Illya Kuryakin**

"Mass hallucination? Hypnosis? Drug-induced euphoria? Though euphoric is a hell of a long way from what I was experiencing, I must admit. Just how do you suggest we explain this to Mr. Waverly," Napoleon asked, just out of curiosity.

He, for one, would prefer to leave that whole unsettling part of the occasion out of the conversation entirely. Especially that knowing smile the 'illusion' had given the pair of them.

"Never mind that for now. How do we explain our meeting with the Chosen One and the Consorts? I found that almost as unsettling, Napoleon. We found no easy welcome there, most assuredly; not out and out hostility, but not far from it. Perhaps if we'd been allowed to meet face to face, but with them concealed behind that lattice screen, shadow upon shadow, all I could discern were two robed forms, one male, one female voice, though with a decided Celtic note to both. Hardly the best way for us to get a feel for them, or them for us. Frankly, I couldn't describe either of them, or pick them out of a crowded room, could you?"

"No, and I imagine that was the whole intent. Although it is possible that some distance between the Consorts and others, especially outsiders, might be a part of their culture. We really know very little about them, after all. Though HER voice, the female Consort, that somehow seemed faintly familiar, as if I'd heard her, or perhaps just someone who sounded a great deal like her, sometime in the past."

"No, we know little about them. And it's not likely we're going to learn much more. I understand from that little dismissal by the Guiding Star that we will be escorted to the border tomorrow, and we do NOT, at least at this time, have an invitation to return. I do not intend to hold my breath waiting for one either, and if Mr. Waverly orders us to return WITHOUT an invitation, I for one will be taking some extended vacation time."

Napoleon sighed in agreement. "It's been that kind of day, hasn't it? Veiled disdain from whatever that thing on the throne was; not-so-veiled dislike from the Consorts; a decidedly chilly farewell by the Chosen One and the Guiding Star; we've lost track of not only Rhonnie, but the Thrush agent as well, and now we're looking at certain annoyance and dire disapproval from Mr. Waverly. It seems fortune is not smiling on us today, partner."

"Well, I cannot argue with that. And I believe that 'thing' on the throne is known as The Crimson Star, from what I have been able to decipher from the wallhangings and paintings here. And yes, I would prefer to believe it was an illusion. In fact, I am going to concentrate very hard on convincing myself of that, and I would prefer you not try and dissuade me, Napoleon."

Napoleon just stared at his partner, then shuddered, remembering that sight.

"I wouldn't think of it. Now, which of us gets to update Mr. Waverly? And do we mention we saw Mandy Stevenson in among the observers, and that she seemed to be getting a slightly warmer reception than WE'VE gotten? Knowing CONTROL seems to be better favored here than UNCLE isn't going to set well. Of course, it seems she was only here to pick up that KAOS operative, but still, no one even OFFERED to hand over the Thrush agent to us, much less answer when we made the request."

Illya smiled that ever-so-disturbing smile, now accompanied by a very smug look, "well, Napoleon, you ARE the senior agent."

A deep resigned sigh came from the senior partner, "yes, I thought you were going to say that" as he reached for his communicator.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> References to stories:  
> 'Burg Saaleck and The Crimson Star' - Hogan's Heroes fandom  
> 'Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye' - MFU Fandom, relating to events which took place in TV episode 'The Odd Man Affair', and their aftermath, involving M'Coury O'Donnell  
> 'Catharsis and the Primal Scream' - MFU Fandom (see note below)
> 
> Note: Mandy Stevenson (as played by Barbara Feldon) once worked for UNCLE, was featured in the TV episode: 'The Never-Never Affair'. She left UNCLE to work for CONTROL as new Agent 99, (also played by Barbara Feldon in TV show 'Get Smart'), according to MFU story 'Catharsis and the Primal Scream'.


End file.
